If you know someone long enough, well enough, you learn where their gaze will travel. And when their gaze shifts abruptly, you notice. Her eyes glance to where he's pointedly not looking. Not his style, she thinks. Someone else's, then.

Let it go.

"Not something I ever have to worry about," she says. "And it's just a dent. Hell, I've driven worse. It's not like it's being held together with bailing wire and spit, now, is it?"

She lets her accent grow thick, smiles at him.

Lighten the mood.

It's motherfucking Christmas, right?